The Ring
by Selena Snow
Summary: A demon's curiosity. A past long forgotten. An unexpected revelation.


**Hi I'm obsessed with these two enjoy**

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He'd always been curious— that was just the natural bent of Crowley. Questioning this, questioning that, questioning God. Other demons were like that, too. That's why they were demons, after all.

But while most demons had curiosity that lead more toward temptation or destruction, Crowley's always followed a path of, well…a simple search of knowledge. It was a big universe. Shouldn't it be normal to wonder at it and about it?

Right now, however, his curiosity was trained on something much smaller.

Crowley's serpent eyes stared down Aziraphale's ring. It sat in a cup of liquid on the angel's desk in the bookshop's backroom. Apparently humans had invented a solution that kept jewelry shiny. His angel had been so pleased with this discovery that he'd immediately gone out to buy some. Could he have just miracled the ring better? Probably. But Crowley understood the urge to do things the human way sometimes. That was one thing the two had always had in common.

Little bubbles drifted up from the surface of the winged gold circle to the top of the glass. From what he could recall of Heaven, every angel had some form of gold on them. Crowley found it obnoxious— they were already angels, why did they have to show off?

Then there was Aziraphale. While most other angels' gold was permanent, his was not. It was removable. Crowley often wondered if this was symbolic of the angel's personality, in how he had gone from constantly spouting off about how the plan was ineffable to then creating his own ineffability. The removal of his beliefs had taken time, yes, but the idea was still there.

But there was always something more to the ring. Each time it caught the light, Crowley's eyes were drawn to it. He also noticed that whenever Aziraphale was nervous, the angel would twist it or stroke it, as though the ring offered comfort.

Crowley had only tried it on once, on that fateful day where they chose their faces wisely. He remembered fiddling with it then as he sat bound in that chair. Why did the ridges of the wings feel so familiar? He hadn't had long to consider it before he was walking into what was supposed to be his doom.

Ever since that day, Crowley's mind had become entangled in an obsessive curiosity with that ring. And, well, if the opportunity was presenting itself, then who was he to deny his demonic urges?

A slender hand made to reach toward the cup, but paused. It wouldn't burn him, would it? What if Heavenly gold had a similar affect on demons as holy water did?

Crowley shook his head. No, he had worn it before as Aziraphale. And even if he had been protected in a different body, he'd also brushed against the ring before with no harmful effects. Plus, Crowley knew, Aziraphale would've warned him if it did pose a danger to the demon.

Yet still, he hesitated.

This was a rare opportunity. The rarest of the rare. Crowley couldn't recount a single other time in the six millennia they'd known each other that he'd seen Aziraphale with the ring off. If the demon wanted his curiosity satiated, this was his chance.

Before doubt could arise again, Crowley plucked the ring out of the cup.

The liquid dripped off of it, and yes, it did seem shinier than usual. Rightly so— who knew how old this thing was.

The demon turned it over in his hands, scanning the delicately engraved feathers of the wings. There was a roughness to it, an unfinished feeling that told Crowley it was handmade, not some miracled object.

Then, he spotted it.

An R on the inside.

He tilted his head. The letter was swirled like a signature. What did it stand for? Perhaps the maker of the ring? Could he even remember anyone in Heaven with a name that began with R? Were jewelry shops a thing up there, perhaps one of the many things he'd forgotten with the Fall?

"No use in wondering," the demon muttered. No use in this case, anyway.

With one final look over, it was time.

Crowley slipped on the ring.

He wasn't prepared for the blinding flash of light that followed. Panic struck him, and for a moment he wondered if he'd summoned the Almighty herself for a smiting, but then the light disappeared.

Crowley's eyes blinked open. Odd…was the room more colorful now? The demon spun around to try to find an answer— only to catch his reflection in an antique mirror on the wall.

He stumbled backward. What…what had happened to him?

The demon cautiously stepped forward. The first things he noticed were his eyes. No longer reptilian. They were molten brown, like Aziraphale's favorite brand of honey.

"Well," he murmured, "That explains the change in eyesight." Living in the half-toned world of snake vision had always been annoying.

Said new eyes investigated further, and Crowley found himself reaching up to touch his face. Scattered all across it were gold flecks, almost like constellations. And framing his face were curls, soft and loose, similar to how he'd worn it in the old days. It was still its usual auburn color, but…it was a shade lighter now. Smoother and silkier, too.

When Crowley's gaze finally traveled down further is when his breath hitched.

He was in white. The purest white there could ever be. His body was swathed in robes, billowing and beautiful, all decorated in golden dots that matched his face.

An unholy chill went up his spine. What was this? Why had the ring made him…this? Was there some sort of magic to it? A spell, perhaps? One that clears away all evil and replaces it with good?

Crowley stared at his reflection, disturbed by what stared back. Why…why did this feel…right?

Hands trembling, the demon pulled the ring off.

Just as before, the room was lit by a flash of light. When he could open his eyes again, Crowley sighed in relief. Short hair. Sunglasses. Black suit. Snake tattoo. He was him again.

…then why was his curiosity still gnawing at him?

He looked down at the ring. Maybe one more try wouldn't hurt.

"Why am I like this," he groaned. The demon jammed the ring back onto his finger.

And again, he was bathed in light and color and holiness, and this time as he took his transfigured appearance in, it wasn't as startling. Something about it felt…natural. Had this been what it was like before the fall? Was this what being an angel felt like? He wished he could recall so he could have comparative notes.

The demon's fingers drifted over the constellations on his cheek. He knew them all by heart. He'd been the ones to etch them into the sky, after all. He could've never forgotten that. So then if his gold reflected his works for the Almighty, then did Aziraphale's mean the same? But what could wings possibly mean? It seemed too vague. Then again, being vague was one of God's favorite tricks.

So distracted by his transformation, Crowley neglected to hear the footsteps coming from behind him. Only a crash of porcelain to the floor caused the demon to whirl around.

Aziraphale was staring at him, eyes wide and mouth dropped open.

"Raphael, my— my dear!" he cried. In a split second, the angel was there, taking the demon's hands in his own. "I haven't seen you in ages!"

Crowley's heart stammered. "Er…"

Aziraphale didn't notice his discomfort, his head turning to take in the state of the backroom. "Oh, I'm so terribly unprepared! Had I known, I, well— do sit down, my dear, and we'll catch up!"

The angel lead the stunned demon over to an armchair. He settled in his own across from Crowley, then miracled the shattered tea set back together (with the addition of another cup, of course).

"Dear me, it has been a while, hasn't it?" Aziraphale tutted as he poured them both a cup. When he made to pass one to Crowley, the demon simply stared at it. "Oh!" the angel startled. "I forgot, ah— this is tea. Humans drink it, or, well, not all of them, but some. It's very popular in this country."

When Crowley still didn't respond, Aziraphale cleared his throat and miracled the cup away. "Right, well." He clasped his hands together. "It is…good to see you again, Raphael, though your visit is unexpected."

What must have been an uncomfortable silence for the angel settled in the room. For Crowley, however, it was one of shock. His mind felt like it had ground to a halt, completely incapable of processing anything that was going on.

Aziraphale squirmed in his seat. "Yes, well, ah, I rather feel I should get to the point— well, not that I don't want to hear what you have been up to, but I also don't want you to think—"

"Yes?"

Crowley would never know how he got that word out. Only that when he did, Aziraphale stopped his stuttering and straightened up. Determination filled the angel's eyes.

"I, well...I've found someone."

Crowley blinked.

The angel's clear blue stare darted away. "I'm sure that may be a shock. I didn't want to move on, not after what we promised, but..." Aziraphale trailed off.

"What we promised," the transformed demon echoed hollowly.

Aziraphale swallowed, then laughed awkwardly. "Yes, well, I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't remember it. It was quite a long time ago, even before the War."

Before the War…the first War? That really was a long time ago.

To make things clear, Crowley and the other demons had figured out what had happened to them shortly after the Fall. Not all of them could just conveniently be forgetful. No, the collective memory wipe of demons was purposeful. Only Satan himself seemed to remember everything from before, but such knowledge was kept from his army.

Like many demons, Crowley remembered bits and pieces. He remembered creating the stars, flying through the void of nothing and creating something, the warmth the light of the Almighty brought. If only he'd known that warmth would turn into scorching heat.

But besides that, most of it was a hazy blur that ended in a pool of boiling sulfur, wings black, not knowing who he was, but wondering who he would become.

A question was on the tip of his tongue, even though Crowley was scared of the answer. And so, like the curious idiot he was, he asked, "So...who's the one you found?"

The angel's face lit up. "Oh, well, he's wonderful!" Aziraphale claimed. "You two look very similar, but he acts so different. Not one for rules, him," he chuckled fondly.

Even without saying a name, Crowley already knew it. His heart began pounding in his chest as the angel continued.

"He has your kindness— or well, _his_ kindness," Aziraphale corrected. "I rather think I would've been discorporated at least a dozen times had it not been for him. And his company is fantastic," he sighed.

The demon watched with softened eyes as the principality in front of him leaned back into his chair, dreamy gaze up at the ceiling.

"I think I'd have been quite lonely without him all these years, just me and myself on this beautiful planet," Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley swallowed, his throat dry. He needed to say something. He really did. But what? What could he possibly say? That Aziraphale was confused? That this was a trick of the eye? That he wasn't who his angel thought he was?

But before he could get out any of those thoughts, Aziraphale's eyes were drifting back down to him. They were wrought with pain.

"Why did you leave?" the angel whispered. "You said you would come back. They changed my post without a word about you. I was sent here, and when I asked about you, they denied me an answer. I thought that perhaps you were sent on an important assignment but…" his voice cut off. His lip trembled. "_Why?_ Why did you leave me? Why didn't you say anything?"

It was almost as though he was speaking to Crowley himself. All the times he'd left, all those ridiculous fights, the centuries of not speaking to one another. Why had he done that? Why?

Crowley couldn't answer.

As though he should've known better, Aziraphale cleared his throat and put on a mask of neutrality. "Never mind, my de— Raphael," he said. "You were always the one for questions, not me. Although I assume you're here due to the recent happenings on Earth." The angel's chin lifted in silent defiance. "No matter what I'm sure Gabriel has told you, I hope you understand why I did what I did."

"I—"

"Wait!" Aziraphale gasped. "Are you here to take me back to heaven?!"

"No!" Crowley burst. "No, not at all! Never!"

The angel let out a sigh of relief. "That's good. My, ah, no, his, um, well— technically _my_ last visit was…interesting."

Awkward silence again filled the room. Crowley was dying to tell him who he really was, to ask what was going on, but for some reason he _couldn't._

And then, the worst thing happened.

"I kept the ring," Aziraphale admitted. The confession was soft, so quiet Crowley wondered if he'd imagined it.

But no, the angel's fingers were drifting over to where the ring usually sat against his skin. He gazed down at the empty space…shyly? Regretfully? Remorsefully? A combination of the three?

"I was just cleaning it, actually," the angel told him, still not making eye contact. "Brilliant beings, humans. I didn't think their solution would work on your star's gold."

'My star's gold?' Crowley thought.

Aziraphale laughed, but it didn't sound cheery. "I can still remember when you gave it to me. It was warm to the touch, and I swore you should've burned your fingers on it while you crafted it. You said it was from—"

"Alpha Centauri," Crowley murmured.

A hint of a smile found its way onto the angel's face. "That's right. Because—"

"Because the two orbit around each other."

And now, a flush was lighting up Aziraphale's cheeks. "Yes. And they always will."

Crowley's heart was aching. He didn't know what was going on. He could figure out enough— that Aziraphale and Raphael had history, most likely of the intimate kind.

And he had also figured out that, for whatever the reason, he'd known the exact star system the ring was from.

With a light slap on his thighs, the principality across from Crowley stood up. He made his way toward his desk. Crowley didn't know why he immediately covered the ring on his finger with a hand.

"I think this stuff will make it as bright as it used to be," Aziraphale was saying. "The bottle promised that— oh, my! It's gone!"

Crowley watched with ever growing guilt as the angel began to search high and low, stricken with panic.

"It was right there!" he cried. "In the glass! Oh, I wonder if— no, I must have misplaced it!"

Unable to take it anymore, the demon rose. "Aziraphale."

"No, no," the angel shook his head, "Perhaps I put it in the kitchen!"

Crowley drew closer. "Aziraphale."

"Oh what if I left it at Crowley's flat, he'd be so—"

_"Aziraphale."_

The principality jumped. When he whirled around, the two were nose to nose.

Crowley took a step back, his cheeks warm. "Aziraphale, I have to say something."

A look of shame came onto his companion's face. "O-Of course!" he said, bobbing his head. "I've been talking the whole time, haven't I?"

"It's okay," Crowley immediately placated. When he didn't say anything more, Aziraphale tilted his head.

The demon's heart pounding in his chest, he revealed the ring on his finger.

At first, his angel's eyes lit up, and Crowley thought he'd understood. But then, they dimmed again, like a fire snuffed out.

"Oh." Aziraphale swallowed. "I see. I understand you wanting it back. You made it, after all."

Crowley's mouth dropped open. "What, no, I— angel, _look_ at me. Don't I look familiar?"

A bittersweet smile formed on the angel's lips. "Of course you do, Raphael. I could never forget you."

The demon ran a hand through his soft locks, grabbing at them frustratedly. "No, Aziraphale, I—"

A warm hand grabbed his own star-dusted one. "It's okay," the angel whispered. "It's been a long time. We've grown apart. This certainly isn't how I thought we'd meet again. Honestly, I lost hope many millennia ago."

And then, just as Crowley was about to scream out the truth, Aziraphale ever so tenderly lifted his hand to his lips. He kissed the palm, the action tender and pained and saying so much more than their jumbled words could have ever said.

There were tears in those beautiful blue eyes when he pulled away. "I think perhaps a proper goodbye is in order," he decided.

Crowley had had enough. Almost growling (although it sounded more like a whimper to his ears), the demon grabbed the angel by his collar. "Angel, look. At. _Me._"

Startled eyes blinked up at him. "Raphael, why—"

"I'm _not_ Raphael."

When Aziraphale began stammering out a reply, Crowley did what he should've done fifteen minutes ago.

He pulled off the ring.

Crowley closed his eyes. Whether it was to save himself from the light or from seeing his angel's reaction, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he was prepared for fury like never before seen for his accidental charade.

He heard a gasp. His heart threatened to shatter.

There were many things he expected. Anger. Holy wrath. Cries of distrust. A door slamming. A slap.

Crowley couldn't have expected the gentle hands that enveloped his face in warmth.

His lip trembled. He didn't want to see Aziraphale's face. He didn't want to see betrayal or hurt or pain or anything like that. All he'd ever worked for was to make Aziraphale happy, like the lovestruck idiot he was, and now in one fail swoop of his stupid curiosity, he might have thrown it all away.

"Crowley," the angel breathed. "Oh, oh my dear Crowley. You…you were—"

"I'm so sorry," the demon croaked, eyes still squeezed shut. "I just wanted to try it on, I didn't mean—"

And all of the sudden, he was wrapped in desperate arms and fluttering wings.

Crowley's eyes opened in shock. His angel was hugging him. _Hugging_ him. Perhaps the kiss to the hand should have been a bigger surprise, but that was for Raphael, wasn't it? Not him. Crowley and Aziraphale had only ever briefly brushed hands, the slight touch all they needed to know where they belonged.

It took a moment before the demon gained the courage to hug Aziraphale back, and when he did, he immediately felt the sobs wracking the angel's body.

"A-Angel!" he stammered. "Why are you—?"

Regretfully, the angel tore himself away from him. Not regretfully, Crowley could now see that they were tears of happiness, not sadness.

"And to think I spent so many centuries trying to get over Raphael so I could move on to Crowley," Aziraphale laughed, delighted. "If only I'd known they were one in the same!"

Crowley's brow furrowed. "What? No, it was just the ring. It made me…holy or something when I put it on, didn't it?"

Now absolutely beaming, Aziraphale shook his head. "No, my dear, it made you _you_ again."

Serpent eyes widened in disbelief.

Aziraphale took the ring from Crowley's grasp, holding it up for him to see. "You placed a part of yourself in there when you forged it in Alpha Centauri," he said, "so that I would always have a piece of you with me. No one else would have changed. I've never changed wearing it."

"So I—"

"It changed you back to who you were before."

Crowley was slowly piecing the puzzle together. His angel was still smiling up at him, the brightest smile he'd ever seen. Being on the receiving end of such a look made the demon flush.

"So we…" he trailed off. "Were we…? Before…?"

A hint of sadness seeped into the angel's eyes. "Yes, yes we were."

The demon swallowed hard and looked down. "Are you…disappointed that I fell?"

There was silence. Crowley wished he could stop asking all these questions.

But a gentle hand was reaching up to remove his sunglasses, and once they were gone, the demon dared to look up.

Aziraphale was smiling at him softly. "Not in the least. Your fall brought you here. And here is the place I got to fall in love with you all over again. My dearest."

If Crowley was one for telling stories, he would've told everyone that no, hearing that from his angel didn't make him cry. He would, however, tell people about how they then stayed up through the night, with Aziraphale recounting stories of their time before and Crowley's foggy memory tentatively clearing.

Perhaps it wasn't a bad thing that he asked questions after all.

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